


Siamese Twins Syndrome

by VernonDudley



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 06:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VernonDudley/pseuds/VernonDudley
Summary: Crawford falls into his own vision and takes Ken with him





	Siamese Twins Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Синдром сиамских близнецов](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111739) by [Puhospinka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puhospinka/pseuds/Puhospinka). 



Crawford rarely dove into his own visions so thoroughly. A sweaty back under his hands rippled with muscles, the scent of arousal was heady in the air, and the man’s moan reverberated somewhere on the edge of his hearing. Crawford tried to hold on to insignificant details: he could see rumpled sheets, an edge of the window frame, a rectangle of pale grey that was a phone with an old, worn-down charm shaped like a soccer ball. But his consciousness kept on spiraling down into the very center of the vision, so forcefully that Crawford dove not only into images, sounds, and scents, but into the feeling of hot tightness around his cock, until a wave of pleasure hit him in the back of the head, throwing him out of the vision.

An almost painful hard-on tented his pants, and his thoughts were chaotic. All in all, though, it looked kind of funny. Crawford adjusted his glasses and sat back in the chair, analyzing his thoughts. He had never been attracted to men. The memories of the vision – the guy’s back and his hot hole around Crawford’s cock – only made him slightly irritated and nothing more. Crawford tried to imagine some other man’s ass. Schuldig’s, for example – and only grimaced. Interesting.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

“What do you want?” Schuldig’s voice sounded annoyed in his head. Judging by the strong response, he was nearby.

The door opened, and Crawford opened his eyes.

“Nice jacket,” he grinned, looking at the bright green thing. Schuldig grinned back contentedly.

“I decided to keep on bothering you with my wardrobe choices,” he said and sat in the opposite armchair, stretching out his long legs.

“I don’t care,” Crawford shrugged. “We have bigger problems. Show me your ass.”

Schuldig slowly lifted one brow.

“Yeah, that’s a problem… Farfarello, did you catch that?” he yelled at the door. “Crawford went nuts!”

“Yeah?” Farfarello peeked into the room. He had a knife in one hand and an orange in the other. In one swift movement, he cut the orange in four equal parts and threw two towards them. “You can’t go crazy if you were already crazy from the start.”

Crawford caught his part of the orange and put his teeth into it thoughtfully. There was something true about Farfarello’s words.

“What I meant was,” Schuldig was devouring his part of the orange, “even crazier.”

"It's impossible to be crazier than Crawford", Farfarello said with conviction, and licked the blade. A drop of blood appeared on his tongue.

“I can hear you, you know,” Crawford grumbled, chewing his orange.

Farfarello just shrugged.

"With me, at least it’s God speaking", he said, turning to leave, "With you, it's the demons from the darkest depths of hell".

He closed the door with his foot, and they heard his footsteps fade away.

Crawford drummed his fingers on the table. Schuldig stayed silent. A big clock on the wall steadily ticked seconds away. When the second hand started its fifth round, Crawford said:

"I had a vision. I was fucking some guy and enjoying it a lot."

Schuldig shrugged.

"You know how it can happen. Adrenalin, aphrodisiac, there are a lot of possibilities," he yawned and stretched. "Don't tell me you're suddenly turning into a shy maiden, screaming, 'There's a man under my bed!' Are you even sure it was a guy? Might be some skinny chick."

Crawford looked at Schuldig as if he were some sort of idiot.

"Really?" Schuldig tried to suppress another yawn and failed. "Come on, tell your telepath what’s really bothering you."

Crawford interlocked his fingers and leaned forward; he always loved seeing Schuldig react to the news.

"It was definitely a ten on the Levi-Parkinsson scale of prediction."

In a split second, Schuldig wasn't sleepy anymore. He leaned towards Crawford, and now their noses were almost touching.

"Oh?" Schuldig looked at him, sharp and precise, and the air between them became charged with energy.

"I want you", Crawford said with emphasis, "to scan me".

The tension broke. Schuldig leaned back.

"You sure?" He looked at Crawford through his eyelashes. "I'm kind of giving you an opportunity to hit the brakes without losing your face."

"Are you trying to be funny?" Crawford grimaced.

"Okay, that joke was stupid." Schuldig closed his eyes. His temples were covered with beads of sweat. "Tell me when you're ready."

"Not ye–"

"Let's go, then."

Crawford fell into a black void.

***

When he regained consciousness, every part of his body ached. His head spun, he wanted to throw up, and his throat was dry as desert.

“Water?” Schuldig's voice was too close and too cheerful. Cold glass touched his cheek, and Crawford smelled water.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “First, water, then I'll shoot you.”

His lips trembled uncontrollably. When Schuldig gave him water, it ran down his chin.

“Before you get your gun – by the way, it's unloaded and in your drawer – I'm going to say that I haven't found any traces of outside interference. Alpha, beta, gamma, and delta waves are normal,” Schuldig recited, in a bored voice. “No anomalies in the wave structure. Psycho background is somewhat elevated, but it's normal for you, so everything seems alright.”

Crawford finally opened his eyes. Schuldig seemed tired and worn out. It felt satisfying, if only a little.

“Don't look at me like that,” Schuldig snapped, putting the glass on the table. The impact made Crawford feel a new pang of headache. Schuldig headed to the door.

“I went into your vision,” he said offhandedly. “If I see anything like that, I'll let you know.”

Crawford smirked, seeing a tent in Schuldig's pants. If he was in the vision, it must have hit him as forcefully as it hit Crawford.

“If you ask me what turns you on, I'd say power and strength. And your own awesomeness. Hmm,” Schuldig pretended to think about it, and Crawford had no strength to throw the glass at him. Anyway, he knew beforehand that he would miss. “Maybe... This guy was jerking off to the thoughts of you, and that's why you’ve got all hot for him?”

Schuldig giggled nastily and closed the door. Judging from his emotional background, he was in a great mood. Unlike Crawford.

His mood didn't get any better while he was looking for his gun. Well, he found it pretty quickly, but had to spend some time looking for the rounds. On a brighter note, by the time Crawford loaded and oiled his baby, the irritation had gone away, the desire to do something nasty to Schuldig subsided, and he started to think.

A ten on the prediction scale only meant one thing: an event of such magnitude that it changed the prophet’s life in a radical way. It wasn't good or bad, just a fact he would have to take into account. Or that’s what textbooks said. However, Crawford had his own opinion on the matter.

Changes: that’s what such visions brought. Changes that Crawford couldn't control were always bad. On the other hand, fate was inevitable. Crawford knew that better than most people.

**

Their cart cut through supermarket crowd like a knife through butter. Schuldig went along, humming cheerfully and throwing boxes from the shelves into the cart.

Crawford took one of them and examined it with disbelief.

"Oatmeal, really? A lifestyle change?" He looked pointedly at a bottle of whiskey, peeking from inside the cart.

"It isn’t for me, it's for Nagi," Schuldig shrugged.

"What, his pocket money isn't enough now?" Crawford paused to think about it. "Why not buy normal food?"

"Nagi said he wanted some oatmeal. You're such a cheapskate."

"I'm not a cheapskate, I'm being rational here."

"For you, it's the same thing. You'd make a terrible father."

"Thank god," Crawford said wholeheartedly. "If my children were even a little bit like me, I'd strangle them in the cradle."

"I love it when you're so hard on yourself." Schuldig said delightedly.

"This isn’t about me. I'm only talking about the competition. Can you imagine that? Life is hard enough as it is."

Schuldig rolled his eyes at him, and in that moment, a man bumped into their cart, making the contents ring and rustle. Something clanked, and a piece of metal spun its way to Crawford's feet, gliding on the smooth floor. It was a phone with a soccer ball charm dangling from an old, worn-down strap. The ball jumped up and down and stopped, almost touching the shiny tip of Crawford’s shoe.

Crawford slowly bent down to pick it up. The metal was still warm. In his mind's eye, he saw pale blue threads of possibilities linking the present and the future. There was one where the broad, leather-covered back disappeared down the aisle. And there was one where the contents of their cart went flying everywhere, into puddles of blood, and the walls of the building shook under Nagi's powerful blows.

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience," a familiar voice said. "Can I have my phone back?"

Crawford straightened and smiled at Hidaka Ken.

"You should be more careful," he said, handing the phone over to Hidaka. Hundreds of blue threads curled and twisted into a knot. "You never know what could happen on a usual grocery run."

Hidaka lifted his head, recognizing him and narrowing his eyes. The feeling of danger ran down Crawford's spine like a blade. In his head, Schuldig was giggling. The threads of possibility intertwined and became one, where he and Hidaka were sitting at a table in a cafe and glaring at each other. Schuldig started to laugh so hard the sound pounded at his head from the inside.

Okay. Crawford rubbed his forehead.

"Hidaka, come along," he looked around, but there was nothing but aisles of food. If he remembered correctly, there were some coffee shops on the fifth or sixth floor. "Let's go for a walk and talk somewhere. Don't mind Schuldig, he's already leaving."

"Hey, who's gonna pay for this?" Schuldig shook the cart, menacingly. The bottles clanked.

Hidaka looked like he was quickly running out of patience, but hasn't decided yet whether he should scream for the police or start killing them himself. Nearby, a child started whining, begging his mother for "those cookies, with the robot ".

"Hidaka thinks it isn’t safe to provoke us in such a busy place, so he's ready to cooperate," Schuldig's mental voice tasted like burnt coffee. "How could he think of us like that? We buy our food here! Come on, Casanova, here is your chance."

"You're paying," Crawford said firmly and mentally gave him the finger.

Schuldig snickered. Moving their cart aside, he winked at Hidaka:

“Imagine working with him!”

He flashed a sharp, pointed smile at them and left. Crawford suddenly became aware that he and Hidaka were standing opposite each other, the customers and their carts turning to avoid them.

“Ah, his back,” Schuldig mused, “looks familiar.”

Crawford cursed mentally. Hidaka stretched out his hand impatiently. Oh yes, the phone. When the device was back in Hidaka's hands, Crawford smiled, adjusted his glasses and gestured for him to go first. Hidaka frowned, then demonstratively moved behind Crawford's back and grumbled:

"Come on, let's move."

"If you say so."

Hidaka’s glare made his back itch. For some time, he entertained himself with the idea of suddenly turning back and saying ‘boo!’. It even was a shame he couldn't do that. It really was their favorite supermarket.

The escalator rustled quietly under his feet, taking them higher and higher up. Crawford felt Hidaka's presence so acutely that, at times, a wave of pleasure went down his spine. He didn't need to be a telepath to know what Hidaka was thinking. Weiss were a lowly link of a complicated empire old Takatori had built. They didn't know much or think about it often. Some of them were more clever than the others, like Fujimiya or Kudou. They understood more but were nonetheless limited. For someone like Hidaka, everything was simple – Creatures of the Dark had to be eliminated. And at the moment he must’ve been contemplating a way to discreetly put a knife into Crawford's heart. Crawford was even sure he could get away with this – his vision immediately gave him a thread of possibility, thin as a spider's web: Hidaka calling for help, holding Crawford close and keeping him from falling, while hot blood soaked his shirt and jacket. Now that he thought about it, Crawford just loved Weiss.

The escalator carried them along with the crowd to the last floor with all the restaurants: from McDonald's to traditional Japanese teahouses. Crawford finally turned back. Hidaka looked around, frowning, and nodded at the ramen place:

"There."

The visitors of the mall seemed to prefer European fast food, because the ramen place was half empty. Two girls in green aprons rushed to them, each one bowing as low as the other, as if it were a competition. Hidaka chose the table, too, and a good one: it was in the farthest corner, his seat facing the door. He even insisted on placing a chair opposite himself. Crawford restrained the impulse to sit side by side with him and sat where Hidaka was offering. The entrance didn't pose any danger, anyway, at least in the nearest two hours.

While they were waiting for their order, Crawford watched Hidaka with interest. At first glance, he was... ordinary. Crawford could bet Schuldig's entire year’s salary that, if someone tried to do a police sketch, they'd fail. A Japanese man in jeans and brown leather jacket, on the shorter side, black hair. Half of Japan would get arrested.

When the waitress brought them two fuming bowls of ramen, Hidaka lowered his head and blew on the broth. Then he scooped some with his spoon and put it in his mouth. The expression of bliss on his face made Crawford chuckle and take his own spoon. The ramen was ordinary - it smelled good and the taste was rich, but it was still just ordinary ramen. Hidaka, however, ate it with such pleasure Crawford felt it affect him, too.

"In the orphanage where I lived, ramen was for special occasions," Hidaka said, his eyes on the bowl. "And they only gave it to good, obedient children."

"You didn't get any?" Crawford chuckled, fishing out an egg.

"Only once," Hidaka answered, "when I was ill. Sister Amamiya decided it could help me, if the prayers couldn't."

He put away his spoon and took the chopsticks.

"So, what the hell do you want from me?"

"Why do you think I have a motive? Why not talk if we ran into each other? It is an extraordinary event."

"I don't know for what reason, but you and Schuldig could have set it all up."

Hidaka looked at him, hard and without blinking. Crawford let himself take in the sight.

"We didn't do it. In this particular case."

Slowly but surely, he was beginning to feel irritated. This conversation was going nowhere. Should he tell the truth? Crawford imagined himself, telling Hidaka he was the key to major changes in Crawford's life. The thread of possibility showed Hidaka thanking him for the meal and leaving. Crawford took one thin chopstick and squeezed it in his hand. The crack of the wood suddenly became the crack of his own bones.

Hidaka was clutching his hand in a vise-like grip. That was the last thing Crawford remembered. He was falling, falling into the brightest and most detailed vision in his life. And pulling Hidaka with him.

**

Bile rose up his throat. Crawford puked what felt like all of his insides. He rolled to his side, his body still seizing. The floor was blurry. When the spasms went away, a glass of cold water approached his face and a bucket appeared on the floor. Crawford grabbed the glass and drank half of it; he immediately threw up again. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, drank the rest slowly and fell back on the pillow. Fumbling around for his glasses, he found them on the nightstand. After putting them on, the blurry figure in the doorway became Nagi. His hands were crossed, his face unreadable.

" _ It _ is in the living room. Schuldig's asleep, Farfarello's angry."

Wonderful. Splendid. Just another day in the life of Schwartz. Except for a dying Crawford and  _ 'it' _ in their apartment. Memories were coming back in bits and pieces. Crawford wished they wouldn't come back at all. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel lost, for a moment. Then he sat up. He still felt winded, his head seemed to be full of cotton. Threads of possibility in his mind looked far away, grey and foggy.

First of all, shower.

Changing into a T-shirt and jeans (Crawford got a good look at his suit and threw it into garbage), he tried to sort out his thoughts. Hidaka's touch provoked a vision too powerful for Crawford's mind. Trying to cut it off and save himself, Crawford took Hidaka's mind with him. Schuldig must have been the one to separate them. But even now, Crawford felt another presence in his mind. It kind of itched – not strongly, but it still irritated him, as if someone else was in a house that he knew like the back of his hand. In any case, it was a surprise Hidaka had even survived. Crawford barely made it out himself, nearly killed by his own vision. He decided to think about it later. However, Nagi had said 'it' was in the living room (where did his respect for his elders go?), so Hidaka must still be alive. Not that it meant anything: his brain must have been fried, so Schwarz would have to kill him anyway, as quickly and quietly as possible.

Or did he miss something? was there something e

In the living room, Crawford saw what made Farfarello angry: an unmoving Hidaka was lying on the couch, tied down with the former’s belts. Farfarello was sitting beside him on the floor, sharpening his knife and trying it out on Hidaka's forearm. The skin from the wrist to the elbow was covered in shallow cuts. Some were fresh and oozing drops of blood, others already dry and crusted.

"He's taking up my belts," Farfarello complained.

"We'll buy you new ones. Better ones," Crawford sighed and headed to the kitchen, leaning on the wall for support. "By the way, why are you doing this?"

"It isn’t a good thing, talking to God all the time," Farfarello said thoughtfully. "It's important to distract oneself."

"Hm," Crawford managed. One more thing to think about later.

Schuldig appeared when he was having his third cup of coffee, looking like he had been to hell and back.

"One for me, too." He sounded grim, and Crawford decided not to antagonize him. He was grateful when the team saved his ass, after all, and today certainly was one of those times.

"Today?" Schuldig grumbled, almost falling face first into his coffee. "You mean yesterday?"

Crawford slowly straightened. So, things were even worse than he thought they were.

"You can't even imagine," Schuldig said, heartfelt. He looked Crawford in the eyes and downed his coffee in one gulp. "I need a drink." He sighed and put the cup bottom up on the counter.

Crawford put his own cup side to side and adjusted them both, so the handles were facing southeast. They both just stood there, contemplating the picture, until Nagi came in. The look on his face clearly said, "What have I done to deserve this?" Then he levitated the cups to the sink, wiped some spilled coffee from the table and left.

"So." Crawford adjusted his glasses.

Schuldig was looking through the window. From time to time, he grimaced, as if in pain.

"It was a surge of the gift, right?" he asked tiredly.

Crawford leaned back in his seat. He wanted to think about it first, but Schuldig had the right to know.

"Yes. It was."

"Which one?"

Crawford paused, but then decided to tell the truth.

"Fifth."

The first surge of the gift usually occurred in the infancy – it was natural and mild for babies, like chickenpox. The second surge was between ten and twelve, the third – after eighteen, the fourth – after twenty-five. With age, the surges became more and more brutal and took more toll on the individual. The fifth one varied, but usually happened after forty. Only twenty per cent of paranormals survived it, and only five stayed sane after.

"That’s what I thought," Schuldig grumbled. "Are you using your gift often?"

Yes. Often. Crawford was so accustomed to his gift it was like second vision, but that wasn’t the case.

"Destroying Eszett," he had to admit, "demands more resources than I anticipated."

More visions, more calculations, more effort. Sometimes, when Crawford was thinking through a plan and checking every detail, he was too late to notice a dead end. The absence of a result was a result in itself; Crawford ruled out the useless threads of possibilities and started again. However, it all took its toll.

The gift was like a muscle – the more you used it, the stronger you became. Still, Crawford never thought the surge could come so soon. Even analyzing his vision –  _ that _ vision, with a hot body under him and a cellphone charm – he dismissed the possibility as too unlikely.

Crawford took off his glasses and rubbed his face. He hated to admit it when he fucked up.

“It’s my fault,” he said.

Schuldig nodded, grimaced again and opened the fridge. Crawford started to fiddle with a salt shaker.

“So, what happened?” he asked once Schuldig reappeared with a bottle of water. Schuldig drank some, wiped his mouth and sat across the table from him.

“You’re the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet, that’s what happened. You survived.”

Crawford just kept looking at him, and Schuldig lowered his gaze – his eyes were red. “But that’s all the good news I have. I checked Hidaka when I had the chance. He doesn’t have any special abilities, his psy-potential is more than average, but still. His limit is two or three marks on the empathy scale.”

Crawford looked at Schuldig’s hands – big, with narrow wrists, they wrapped around the bottle.

“You were lucky. He, not so much. He held onto you when the first wave hit.”

Crawford remembered – an island at sea, white suits, the world around them crumbling, and salt water in his throat.

“So he got pulled in with you. And,” Schuldig put the bottle on the table with a quiet clank, “this is where really interesting shit starts. Anyone else would instantly turn into a slobbering idiot. You know what an uncontrollable flow of vision does to a mind, it’s like napalm. But this kitten – you wouldn’t believe it – shielded you from the worst of it. Then, panicking and trying to save himself, he grabbed your mental shields and fell through them, and into your head.”

“He has an insanely flexible mind,” Crawford muttered.

“Oh yeah,” Schuldig smirked. “You can’t even imagine. Long story short, when I finally reached you both, you were already intertwined too tightly. I almost fried my own mind trying to separate you from each other.”

Crawford closed his eyes, as if it could distance or reverse what Schuldig was about to say.

“The bad news is I couldn’t separate you completely. And I don’t think I will be able to,” he added quietly. “This ship has already sailed.”

Crawford didn’t think Schuldig felt any sympathy for him or something. It must have been more like anger at himself, at his own lack of power. Schuldig hated to admit his weaknesses, too.

“I don’t know anyone capable of separating intertwined minds.” Crawford stood up with some effort. He needed to think. “Maybe the Elders of Eszett. There’s no use thinking about it.”

“That’s some consolation, boss.” Schuldig saluted him with the bottle.

“Can anybody tell me,” Nagi appeared in the doorway, Farfarello in tow, “how long is  _ it _ going to stay here?”

“Don’t talk about a God’s creature like that, Nagi.” Farfarello smiled dreamily. “I hope he’s staying for some time.”

“If he doesn’t wake up till evening,” Schuldig answered, “we’ll need to take him to a hospital. He needs special care.”But Hidaka woke up.

**

Crawford stood in the doorway of the dimly lit room, looking at an unconscious Hidaka. His eyes were moving frantically under the eyelids. Schuldig’s footsteps, almost inaudible, stopped behind Crawford’s back.

“What’s happening in his mind?”

Even the shrug Schuldig gave him mentally made Crawford wince.

“I thought you were the telepath here.”

“Don’t even try; I’m not going into his mind.”

“Why?” Crawford felt curious.

“I’m trying,” Schuldig admitted begrudgingly. “But his mind is combusting in pain. Even watching it from up close is unsettling.”

“Can you get past it?” Crawford suggested. His own mind immediately showed him a hazy image from the future – Schuldig on the floor, his empty eyes looking up at the ceiling, face contorted with agony.

“Thanks for that,” Schuldig said passionately. “That’s exactly how I want my days to end. Just… Just imagine his mind is wrapped in barbed wire, layers of it. And it’s covered in napalm and burning. I can try to get past, but I don’t know how sharp the wire is, or how deep it goes.”

“Got it,” Crawford muttered.

“I can’t even say if he’s going to be in his right mind,” Schuldig continued. “Scratch that, he isn’t going to be in his right mind, he’s been in yours. Here’s the question: is he going to be more or less sane?”

Crawford thought about the fact that there was another person who knew everything about him – absolutely everything, even the things he didn’t know about himself. It made him feel queasy.

“Oh.” Schuldig laughed quietly, and Crawford’s mind turned scarlet and gold. “You get afraid. That’s a revelation.”

“Get out of my head,” Crawford said through his teeth.

“You only needed to ask.” Schuldig retreated, leaving behind only his smile, like Cheshire cat. “Yeah. And one more thing. It’s likely that he didn’t only meet your subconscious, but also his own. Learned he likes to kill, likes to  _ murder _ , learned that the beast deep inside him doesn’t care about justice and mercy. Homosexuality he’d been suppressing for years is a minor detail, really, but it might be the most interesting for you.”

“His chances?”

“No idea. Hidaka already surprised me once. Maybe he will be able to overwhelm his inner beast. And gather his own self, piece by piece. I think that's what he's doing right now.”

In that moment, Hidaka opened his eyes.

His gaze - dark, almost black, and overflowing with madness - found Crawford. He rose, pulling on Farfarello's belts so hard they started to creak. Blood oozed from the cuts on his arm. Never taking his gaze off Crawford, Hidaka said:

“I know your biggest secret.”

And went limp again. Pain cut through Crawford's temples, crushing his skull, and all the air in his lungs was gone, leaving only cold fear.

Crawford hoped with all his heart that Schuldig would never know – or at least, never show he knew – that for just one moment, these words made him dizzy with overwhelming, almost superstitious panic. It was gone as quickly as it came, and Crawford felt amused and annoyed at the same time.

“Did he have to be so dramatic?”

Schuldig giggled.

“Interesting,” he said, and Crawford finally looked away from Hidaka.

“What is?”

“Couldn’t scan him, even now,” Schuldig was clearly amused, “So much pain for just one person.”

“And now what?”

“Now he’s asleep. There’s no use waking him up, we’ll see soon enough.”

Schuldig went to his room. Crawford followed the telepath like he was chained to him. Schuldig’s bed sheets were rumpled and looked like a squirrel’s nest. He burrowed into the center of it and pulled the covers up to his nose.

Crawford sat on the floor and stretched his legs out.

“Considering the fact that you still haven’t suggested the simplest way out of the existing situation…”

“The simplest isn’t the most sensible,” Schuldig said irritably. “We can always kill him.”

“I need your opinion as a telepath.”

“As a telepath, I’m telling you that if we kill one of you, another one dies too. Or goes crazy. It’s the same, really. I hope he’ll wake up soon,” he muttered from under the covers. Crawford stood up.

He heard everything he needed to know.

It wasn’t surprising, anyway.

The prospect of Hidaka dying didn’t frighten him, just like the prospect of cutting off his own arm, leg, or tongue. If it were necessary, Crawford would do it. It was more of an annoyance, unwillingness to lose it. But things were different for intertwined minds. In Rosenkreuz, they called it the Siamese twins syndrome. In simple cases, Siamese twins shared an arm or a leg. In more complicated ones, it was circulatory system and such, so when one of the twins died, the other soon followed him. In the same way, paranormals whose minds were connected depended on each other. Couldn’t exist without each other.

Schuldig had only said out loud what Crawford understood himself. His and Hidaka’s case was – complicated. One of them died, the other died too. Fucking splendid.

Crawford felt terribly tired. Despite having woken up only a few hours prior, he longed to sleep again. Going to bed, he thought about the highlights of the day. First and foremost – he survived a surge of the gift. Mentally, he circled it as the most important. Other good things included: he now had the ability to plan the attack on Eszett better, or to use his gift more efficiently to work for Takatori…

Speaking of Takatori. Crawford closed his eyes and concentrated. His visions still were chaotic and blurry, but the gift was recovering, and Crawford already could look much farther into the future. He reached for the phone.

“Mr. Takatori? You will not need us next week. No, there will be an accident, he won’t be able to make it. The shipment that you’re worried about will arrive smoothly. Also, if you visit your honorable father tomorrow, you will find him in a spectacular mood, and he will accept your latest proposal. Yes. Yes. You can transfer it to our bank account.”

Crawford closed his eyes and smiled. It was dangerous to use his gift recklessly. But how could he live without this intoxicating feeling of power that also brought money? Slowly, he started drifting off to sleep.

It was raining. The dome above his head was worn down by time and forces of nature. A lonely bell was ringing, and a woman’s deep voice kept calling, “Ken! Ken! You naughty child, where did you go?” His thoughts went from one thing to another, fluctuating inside his foggy mind, like jello in a cup.  _ Who is this Ken the annoying woman is calling for?  _ Then, another thought came –  _ oh yes, Ken. That is my name. _

And Crawford woke up.

**

Outside the window, the sun just started rising. The curtains trembled slightly, like they always did, when Nagi was really annoyed. Oh yes, yesterday Schuldig made him take care of Hidaka.

Of Ken, his inner voice said, and Crawford felt like he was back in the stifling cold of his dream.

"So here's the plan!" a cheerful Schuldig burst into the room and flung open the curtains.

Crawford winced at the dim light and the loud voice.

"Nagi, Farfarello and I – we're packing our bags and going on a picnic. Like a happy little family." Schuldig said.

That really woke Crawford up.

"You're doing what? Like who?"

"Takatori isn't going to need us," Schuldig pointed his finger at Crawford. "I've heard you. So we're going on a picnic, and you're staying here with Hidaka. You know, to get to know each other."

"Schuldig, you're kidding, right?"

"What? We haven't gone on a vacation in forever, and now this happens! Nagi looks like he's about to explode – by the way, you owe me a new computer. I can barely keep Farfarello away from Hidaka – he wants him to talk to God already. And," Schuldig got serious, "at the moment, we're too unstable. There is a real risk of being found out by other paranormals. The apartment is screened properly, so, if we leave, you two should be alright."

"Okay." Crawford had to admit he was right. "Okay. You traitors." Well, if he was being honest... "Put it in the budget."

Schuldig gave him an incredulous look and disappeared so quickly Crawford felt the wind on his face.

"Nagi! What was that onsen called? Screw that, we're going to the best one. Crawford's paying!"

"What is wrong with him?" Farfarello asked.

"Yes, is he alright?" Nagi added.

"Does it matter? Let's move, before he changes his mind."

Crawford rolled his eyes. At times, his high-profile, deadly team really acted like idiots.

"Right back at you." Schuldig snorted on the edge of his conscious mind.

"How is Hidaka?" Crawford remembered.

"He is able to do simple things – drink, eat, go to the toilet. Otherwise, no presence of mind."

"Do I look like a nurse to you?"

"Oh yeah."

He couldn't even get mad at Schuldig.

"It's good progress. Maybe he'll start talking tomorrow. By the way, I untied him."

Wonderful. Crawford closed his eyes. The silence around him felt solid and crisp. Once his team left, Crawford started to feel how weak he still was, and how badly he needed to recover. He turned to the other side, trying to get more comfortable.

A thunderous clattering noise shook the apartment and made Crawford jump out of his bed. He found Hidaka in the kitchen, half-naked and in a combat stance. The floor was covered in white shards and coffee beans.

"Calm down," Crawford said quietly, and Hidaka looked at him, his eyes void of understanding. His fists clenched and unclenched again.

When Hidaka growled and attacked him, Crawford was ready. But something was not right: even as Crawford countered, he felt he couldn't rely on his short term vision of the future, like he usually did in fights. Hidaka seemed to know where Crawford was going and anticipated his every move. They knocked down a couple of chairs, a cupboard and a kitchen machine before Crawford realized Hidaka was using the residual connection to his gift. Sure, it was weak, but enough for a kitchen fight. Crawford blocked his gift entirely.

Hidaka's next blow grazed his cheekbone, but Crawford managed to catch his fist and twist his arm behind his back, slamming Hidaka into the wall. He twisted until Hidaka whimpered from pain. The fighting clouded his glasses, and Crawford had to stop until he managed to see something.

In the meantime, Hidaka's breath evened out, his shoulders relaxed, and he sniffed at the air. Crawford relaxed his grip and looked around, taking in the broken dishes.

"I was sure they were break resistant," he muttered. Hidaka jerked at the sound of his voice, but relaxed again almost instantly. Crawford was in a grave need of coffee.

Hidaka grumbled and moved, so Crawford let him go. Hidaka sniffed about, then headed to the coffee beans, scattered on the floor. When he took one and put it in his mouth, Crawford felt the familiar bitter taste on his tongue.

Okay. So that's how it worked.

Moving Hidaka aside, Crawford started cleaning. When he was done, Hidaka was still standing in the doorway and staring impassively right in front of him.

Crawford shrugged and opened the cupboard. There were the boxes of cereal that Schuldig had bought for Nagi that day. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure who was the oracle in their team. Anyway, Crawford could use it. He tried mixing the cereal with water, but it tasted horrible. In the end, he poured some milk into the bowl.

Hidaka still was just standing there, his arms relaxed, and only his fingers twitched from time to time. Crawford put a hand on his shoulder and tried to guide him to the table, but Hidaka wouldn’t budge, so Crawford took the bowl, the spoon, scooped some cereal with it and put it into Hidaka’s mouth. He spit out most of it, but at least not all.

When Crawford tried to repeat his maneuver, Hidaka just moved away. Crawford decided that wasn’t a problem, so they did it that way: Hidaka retreated, shook his head and turned away, and Crawford chased him and fed by force. At the same time, he was working with a complicated tangle of possibilities - nothing special, just a series of places to have dinner at, but it could lead to an interesting turn of events.

He was so into it that he almost missed Hidaka’s attack and barely held to his bowl. Hidaka was so impassive at one moment and so aggressive at the next one that it caught Crawford completely by surprise. The only thing that helped was a hook to his jaw. Hidaka’s head jerked to the side, and he stumbled to the floor heavily.

Crawford sighed and took the dishes to the sink.

He was in for a difficult three days. Maybe even more difficult than the times when Nagi was unstable. When Crawford came back, Hidaka was still on the floor. The cereal was on his face, chest, and stomach, and even his boxers caught some. He’ll have to wash Hidaka, great. Crawford could only hope the effect of the blow would last, because he had no desire to repeat it. His ears were still ringing from their fight.

He threw Hidaka on his shoulder and carried him to the bathroom. Hidaka woke up when Crawford took off his boxers and turned the water on.

Judging by the crazy color, the boxers were Schuldig’s. They also were, well, too tight in all the important places. Crawford decided to give Hidaka his own underwear. And he must tease Schuldig mercilessly about it.

“What? I’m skinny!” from the other side of the country, Schuldig sounded offended.

“Don’t eavesdrop, you bastard.” Crawford straightened Hidaka and started to wash him.

“You’re being smug too loudly.”

Crawford wasn’t going to deny that. He had to find an upside to those three days, after all. Hidaka scoffed irritably, and Crawford tensed, but he only turned his head to the side and licked the water from his face.

Oh. Crawford forgot to give him something to drink. Okay. He decided not to be too harsh on himself and just made the water cooler to let Hidaka drink his fill. Also, Crawford himself needed to calm down - he felt slightly aroused, it annoyed him and didn’t help to concentrate. And only when soaping up Hidaka’s shoulders and stomach, Crawford noticed his hard-on.

“No, buddy,” he muttered, “Take care of it yourself.”

Hidaka took that as a hint to try and rub himself off on Crawford. He thought of the fastest way out of the situation - and wrapped his hand around the wet, hard cock. Heat was pooling in his groin, and Hidaka arched, moaning hoarsely, and came almost instantly.

Great. Now Crawford was hard, too. Well, he was going to shower anyway, after all this mess with feeding and washing Hidaka. Crawford wrapped Hidaka in a towel and pushed him out of the bathroom, deciding he was capable of finding something to do. Worst case scenario, some more of the kitchenware broken. How the hell did he manage that again?

After showering, he found Hidaka lying in the hallway in front of the bathroom door. For a moment, Crawford hoped he finally talked to God and stopped being Crawford’s problem, but the bastard was just sleeping, wrapped in his towel.

Crawford sighed heavily and stepped over Hidaka. His wristwatch was at 10.30 AM. Oh yes. Those three days were going to be really difficult.

But if life in Rosenkreuz taught him anything, it was the fact that humans could get used to anything, even several million volts through their spine. By the end of the day, he and Hidaka learned to coexist quite peacefully. Feeding him was still a problem, and Hidaka was aroused all the time, like an animal in heat. Still, Crawford decided it wasn’t so bad.

Going to bed, he thought that everything turned out alright. At the very least, his gift recovered almost completely. The fact that he and Hidaka shared senses was inconvenient, but nothing he couldn’t manage. Also, Crawford noticed with displeasure that he started to feel a liking for Hidaka. It was unexpected and irrational.

“I don’t remember anything about him being sexually obsessed from our Weiss files.”

“It’s only temporal,” Schuldig said dismissively. “At the moment, his basic instincts are overwhelming. When he really wakes up, he’ll be able to control them.”

Schuldig radiated contentedness and light arousal - must be having a really good time.

“Got it.”

Crawford hesitated for a second, but decided to ask directly:

“I feel a liking for him. Is that normal?”

“In your case, absolutely not,” Schuldig answered frankly. “Egotistical jerks like you only feel a liking for themselves.”

“Don’t flatter me, you bastard.” Crawford smiled.

“If you…” he felt Schuldig’s hesitation. “If you open your mental shields a little bit, I can look.”

Any other time, Crawford would tell him to go to hell, but right now, he was too concerned about this.

“I’ll try,” he said tensely.

Opening his mind to a telepath, albeit a member of his own team, was always dangerous. There was a risk that… There were many risks. But he and Schuldig were too far gone on their path of destroying Eszett. Compared to that, any risk felt like a child’s play. Crawford cleared his mind and relaxed, imagining a still water surface.

Schuldig’s mental touch felt like something cold on the back of his head. It made his teeth ache. Schuldig backed away almost instantly, and Crawford hastily raised his shields back.

“Funny,” Schuldig mumbled. “So that’s how it works. It’s funny, really.”

Crawford waited patiently.

Schuldig was quiet for some time, then cursed, annoyed.

“I was trying to feel Hidaka’s mind and check a hunch I had, but no chance. Well, I’m not sure, but… Seems like your subconscious turned on the instinct to protect, and it is tuned to your weakest part. Which is Hidaka.”

“That  _ is _ funny. I wouldn’t say I’m afraid to die.” Crawford put away his glasses and pulled up the covers.

“Not consciously. But our subconscious disagrees. Paranormals like us have a strong instinct to survive. Combined with the instinct to protect ourselves, it becomes overwhelmingly strong. Who taught you to hold your shields?” he changed the topic rapidly, but Crawford understood.

“Exactly. Nobody taught you to hold your shields, just like nobody taught me to block other people’s thoughts from my mind. Nobody told Hidaka what to do if he was trapped in another’s mind. We learned it ourselves, by instinct or by luck. Those who didn’t learn didn’t make it.”

“Okay.”

Crawford felt a desperate need to sleep and started to zone out of their mental channel.

“By the way,” Schuldig said, offended, “You owe me. I had to pretend I was too drunk and fell asleep, and now the girls are mad at me!”

Crawford smiled and threw Schuldig out of his head.

**

The digital clock in the head of the bed was at 3 AM when Crawford woke up. He was engulfed in pleasant warmth, and several seconds passed before he really woke up and became aware that it was Hidaka wrapping his arms and legs around him. The lust, weak and already familiar, didn’t really feel arousing, for some reason, only calming. The desire to throw Hidaka out of the window, which he felt at first, now disappeared.

Instead of doing that, Crawford turned to the other side and closed his eyes again.

“Hey, Ken!” The girl was laughing, but Crawford couldn’t remember her name. “Why don’t you say anything?”

They were sitting side by side on the ground, drawing in the dust with a stick. The crooked, unsteady lines formed a house by the sea. It had a garden, and a bird was flying above the roof.

“Here,” she said. The smile showed her dimples. “This is where we’ll live. Ken, why don’t you say anything? Ken!”

Because I hate it when they call me by my name. And I’m not Ken, Crawford tried to scream and woke up.

Hidaka was sleeping on his back. Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, his mouth twisted, as if he wanted to cry. Emotions flashed on his face - pain, fear, guilt. He started to thrash around on the bed, almost reaching Crawford, squeezed the sheet in his fist and breathed heavily.

Crawford sat up and ruffled his hair. He didn’t want to know what Hidaka was dreaming about. Now that he thought of it, Crawford himself hasn’t dreamt in years.

When Crawford put his hand on Hidaka’s shoulder, Hidaka exhaled raggedly and went quiet. The smooth skin burned Crawford’s palm and awoke a vague longing. He got up and headed to the kitchen. There was another long day waiting for him.

This time, he decided against feeding Hidaka by hand. He just fried up some toasts and omelette and put the plate on the table. Hidaka came into the kitchen when Crawford was pouring him tomato juice. Maybe some water would've been better, he thought, because washing the tomato juice off everything in the apartment didn't excite him much. Then again, judging by his glimpses of the future, everything was going to be alright.

Hidaka didn't bother with finding clothes. His movements were strained and insecure, as if he were trying to remember how to do it. His eyes were still empty, but at least he held the spoon in his fingers. Then Hidaka took the toast, sniffed at it and munched it in a second, growling his pleasure. Crawford felt his own stomach rumble and stoically endured the feeling of Hidaka’s hunger.

Crawford kept watching him with interest and seeping his water. Hidaka ate the last of his omelette and was standing with the plate in his hands, trying to remember what to do next. When he finally made a step towards the sink and put the plate in it, Crawford gave him a pat on the shoulder and a well-deserved glass of water. Then he made his way to the living room to watch TV.

Switching the channels, Crawford was trying to find basketball. When Hidaka came in after him and stood behind silently, Crawford first pointed absent-mindedly to the sofa, then pulled Hidaka by the hand - he dropped to the sofa in front of Crawford. His soft hair tickled Crawford's nose, and Crawford moved higher up. As for Hidaka, he sniffed about contentedly, tossed and turned, then curled up in a ball, exhaling, and was out like a light. Crawford could only envy him.

When Crawford finally found a sports channel, he felt sleepy as well. In their situation, it was normal, even healthy, but annoying nonetheless. It reminded him of his own weakness - in general, and at the moment. But there was nobody around, so he let himself close his eyes and sleep some more.

Well, nobody except for Hidaka. Who didn't count.

He slept without dreams, Crawford realized when he woke up. Hidaka was facing him, his right hand on Crawford's waist, its warmth heavy and pleasant. Crawford would never get used to the cold of Japanese apartments. He needed a blanket. And to go to the toilet. Hidaka stirred, like he was reading Crawford's mind, got up and wandered out of the room. Crawford heard a door opening and water running, and the feeling of a full bladder disappeared. When Hidaka came back, Crawford pulled him to the sofa by the hand again. He liked the feeling of a hot body by his side – it was warm, cozy, comfortable. That was what surprised Crawford the most. He never stayed for the night with his many lovers, and never asked them to stay with him. It just never felt comfortable for him to share personal space. But with Hidaka, it did.

Suddenly the body beside him tensed, and Crawford braced for a fit of anger, but Hidaka relaxed and climbed on the sofa. I need to find him some clothes, Crawford thought before falling asleep.

He woke up in the dead of the night. Some night channel was on, it was pitch black outside, and Hidaka's breath was shallow and measured. Too measured. He jerked, but Crawford was faster – he pinned Hidaka down and forced one knee between his legs, pressing against his balls. Hidaka went limp, shaking with anger.

"When did you wake up?" Crawford asked. Hidaka didn't answer, his breath hot and heavy.

Then he shivered, and Crawford suddenly became very aware that they were both half naked, pressed tightly to each other, and Hidaka was hard. To top it all, his arousal was slowly but surely projecting on Crawford.

"Fucking hell," Hidaka cursed hoarsely, and Crawford had to agree. He took the remote and turned on the light.

Even naked, Hidaka looked different from yesterday – he was composed and tense, his eyes angrily boring a hole in Crawford.

Then, all of a sudden, Hidaka relaxed and closed his eyes. A wry smile twisted his lips.

"I always wanted a brother, you know. To share secrets and stuff," - he laughed, short and bitter. Then again. And again. He laughed until his body folded in half in fits of hysterical laughter, right under Crawford. It ended as suddenly as it started.

"Why", he whispered, "Why the fuck does it happen to me? If I die, you die too?" his eyes were dry and bright, the light of the screen played on his pale face.

"Definitely. Here is your chance to take another Creature of the Dark with you. But you know," Crawford tried to make his voice sound as insinuating as possible, "together we can kill so many more of them."

Hidaka crawled out from beneath him and sat, crossing his legs.

"You're a fucking asshole, Crawford," he murmured.

"Such cheap flattery doesn't work on me," Crawford warned him. Hidaka put his legs down.

"I wasn't trying. I'm hungry," Hidaka was quiet, then added, "tonight".

"What? Ah, when you woke up."

"Also, give me some fucking clothes!"

"Do you ever ask nicely?" Crawford got up and went to his room.

"What, like, on my knees?" Ken snapped, while Crawford was searching through his wardrobe.

"Did anybody tell you you have a bad temper?"

"Tons," Ken caught the jeans with ease, then a T-shirt and boxers. "I can't stand you. Why should I be nice to you?"

"Hmph. There goes Schuldig's theory."

"Schuldig?" Ken's disheveled head appeared in the neckhole. "By the way, where is your team?"

"Went to the hot springs."

"Douchebags. What was the theory?"

Crawford completely agreed with him.

The jeans were too long for Ken. Instead of rolling them up, Crawford just tore stripes of fabric from each leg.

"Thanks," Ken muttered. "Give me a belt, I promise not to hang myself on it."

"Pick," Crawford nodded at the wardrobe. He was fed up with all this mess, and irritated, as if after long years of faithful service his arm or leg suddenly acquired a mind of their own, and their opinion didn't match that of Crawford.

"The theory, well... Let's talk in the living room."

Crawford listened to the soft steps behind him. He couldn't get rid of an unpleasant feeling – he always felt like that when something wasn't going his way.

Ken silently climbed on the sofa, crossed his legs and looked at Crawford expectantly.

"Schuldig says that our connection makes us instinctively protect each other.  Because the death of one of us means the death of the other. We even kind of like each other."

Ken made a face like he felt sick. Something definitely was wrong.

"It's bullshit," he said calmly, making Crawford frown. "If I want to kill myself, I will die, and no one is going to stop me. Especially you."

Crawford crossed his arms and leaned on the door.

"But you still haven't done it," he said.

Ken visibly hesitated.

"I need to talk to Aya."

"Fujimiya isn’t in Tokyo. He won't be back for a few days, you know it. And you don't trust Kudou that much. No rush, then. We have time to discuss it all and work out some compromise."

Ken lowered his head and started to examine the upholstery. On the top of his head, strands of dark hair were sticking out, and Crawford wanted to caress them. The sleeves of the T-shirt dug into his upper arms, tightly hugging the muscles, his chest rose and fell steadily…

Crawford blocked his thoughts a tenth of a second before Hidaka threw the TV set at him. The threads of possibility were dancing in his eyes, turning bright red, screaming death, death, death, and Crawford was convulsing on the floor, trying to loosen Hidaka’s grip on his neck. His brain was working fast and clear: he could last about ten minutes without oxygen, but Hidaka would be able to break his larynx in the meantime. He gave some ground, then hit Hidaka in the bridge of the nose with his forehead – once, twice, and the fingers on his neck unclenched, his lungs filled with oxygen, and Crawford socked Hidaka in the liver with his right hand.

Hidaka bent in half, gasping for air, his face paled. Even trying to catch his own breath, Crawford felt deeply satisfied.

“Fucker,” Hidaka croaked, trying to kick him, “you piece of shit. I’d rather die than live like that, with you.”

Crawford saw red. When he came to his senses, they traded places and it was Hidaka wheezing on the floor, trying to loosen the hold on his neck. Crawford released him and tried to calm down. Hidaka swallowed with difficulty and started to cough, his body seizing. Pain scorched Crawford’s throat from the inside.

“If you think,” Crawford grabbed Hidaka’s shoulder and pulled him closer. He felt his lips tremble and self-control crumble once again. “If you think I was happy to get you as a dead weight, then you’re even dumber that I thought.”

“Die,” Hidaka spat, and Crawford shoved him back with the last of his strength. He stepped back, trying not to kill Hidaka on the spot, pushed the door open with his back and tumbled out to the hallway.

Cool air helped him calm down somewhat. Crawford headed to the bathroom and got in the shower in his clothes, starting cold water. When his teeth began to clatter and he felt sick from the cold, Crawford got out and started to undress. Hidaka’s presence, heavy and unpleasant, in turns scratched and pounded at his mind, making him go hot and cold. The unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability was drilling into the back of his head.

Crawford dragged himself to his bedroom and listened: Hidaka wasn’t moving. His stomach and throat still hurt, but otherwise he was alright. A tough son of a bitch. Crawford got under the covers, closed his eyes, and concentrated. He only wanted one thing – to try and close his mind from another’s presence. Put his shields up and as solid as possible.

He breathed in and out, the air steadily moving through his lungs, his body gradually starting to relax. He was accustomed to closing his mind, but at the moment he needed something different. Something requiring another kind of concentration – not to block outside interference, but to shield his mind from a part of himself.

He remembered practice at Rosenkreuz, his own experiments and training with Schuldig. Bit by bit, he built the method from experience, slowly and meticulously raising the shields, putting them between himself and his inner self. His pulse was steady, his breath evened out, and at some point, something that was trying to claw its way inside, disappeared.

Crawford lay there for some time, examining his own feelings. It was funny how quickly one could get used to something, even if it was having someone so close. Now it felt strange not to sense Hidaka. In the back of his head, where he used to feel another’s presence, now there was nothing but an aching, gnawing emptiness.

Crawford got up and dressed, then found his second pair of glasses and put them on. The lines of the room felt so sharp that it made his temples throb with pain, and Crawford ripped the glasses off, then spend some time just blinking.

He started to lose his eyesight as a child – it wasn’t too bad, just notably inconvenient, and Crawford had forgotten a long time ago what the world looked like without glasses. His temples throbbed again, breaking into cold sweat, and there was a lump in his throat.

It could only mean that their connection was still growing and getting stronger. Maybe cutting Hidaka off was a bad decision and he only made everything worse. His heart was pounding. Crawford shook his head, trying to clear his vision: one second, he could see every dot on the wall, the next, everything was a blur of colors.

Holding to the wall, he got to the living room, tried to open the door and had to use all of his force – the doorway was blocked. A broken TV set, another one, then a table – how could he not hear, not feel it? His head rang like a church bell, and someone was calling him, weak as a faraway howl of the wind.

Hidaka was lying face down between an armchair and a table. His bloody fingers were clutching the hair on the back of his head.

The floor was swaying under his feet when Crawford tried to carefully lift Hidaka and keep himself from falling. Slowly, step by step, he carried Hidaka to the bedroom. Crawford lowered him onto the bed and checked his wrists, then the jugular – he could barely feel Hidaka’s pulse, and his breath was growing weaker and weaker.

The already sparse information that Crawford had on Siamese twins slipped his mind completely. For what seemed like the first time in his life, he was at a loss what to do. Crawford’s brain was in chaos, his gift was going off the rails, painting his mental space with red and blue stripes, like a weird chess board. He was an idiot, Crawford realized with painful clarity, he was a fucking idiot. He has been around the paranormal his whole life, hanging out with telepaths, pyrokinetics, psychokinetics, and berserks. The Elders of Eszett were his teachers, Schuldig was his long-term sparring partner. He was prepared for anything.

Hidaka wasn't. When Crawford cut off their mental bond, it broke him. Crawford remembered the feeling of someone clawing his way into the back of his head.

Schuldig was right after all.

Crawford clenched his teeth. Ignoring his own blurring vision, he took off his clothes, then undressed Hidaka. He remembered the things he was taught about empathy - physical contact wasn’t needed, but in rare cases, it could help to interact.

Crawford climbed on the bed and pressed his chest to Hidaka's back – it felt cold and slumped. He stretched out his legs, put his hand on Hidaka's stomach, buried his face in Hidaka's hair and closed his eyes.

He had to clench his teeth again to stop his mental shields from falling all at once. Instead, he unraveled them slowly, one thought after another. Crawford kept looking at the dark strands of Ken’s hair and running his fingers through them to hold on to reality. Still, the moment the shields were gone, a supernova exploded in his head. When Ken arched and started convulsing, Crawford hugged him tightly and held him through it. With his chest to Ken's back, Crawford stroked Ken's smooth skin and felt Ken's firm ass press back into his groin.

When the seizure subsided and left Ken lying still, Crawford listened to his heartbeat. The pressure in the back of his head disappeared, and the relief was so strong that if Crawford were standing, his legs would surely give out. The awakening of another's mind felt like a spider’s web: the signals were running through its threads, sending shockwaves that grew stronger and stronger, until finally they formed a pattern with all the lines crossed in the center.

Ken's presence didn't annoy him or interfere with his thoughts, it simply was somewhere at the edge of his mind, a trembling golden web. Crawford closed his eyes and tried to swallow. Ken moved, and Crawford had to loosen his hold so he could roll to the other side and face him.

"You are a fucking asshole," Hidaka said hoarsely. His eyes were dry and bright, and Crawford smiled happily.

"I am," he agreed and stroked Ken between his shoulder blades. The touch warmed up the tips of his fingers, and then the warmth traveled further, through his hand, through his chest to the stomach and pooled in his groin.

"But I can't hate you," Ken looked away. His profile was stark against the white pillow. Crawford wanted to do something. To him. He  _ wanted _ , and he wasn’t used to denying his own desires.

“I know, it’s funny,” he muttered. “Do you like me now?”

He slowly lifted his hand and put it on a smooth, well-defined bicep, squeezed it. Ken swatted his hand away.

“No I fucking don’t,” he grumbled. Crawford sighed, keeping his hands to himself, then decided to try again and stroked the small, round buttocks.

Ken tensed and went still. Crawford carefully caressed him again. A shiver ran through Ken’s body, he pressed his knees together and exhaled.

“I don’t like you either,” Crawford informed him. Ken’s eyelashes quivered and rose. He was looking at Crawford with a lazy annoyance. “Now, when we’ve confessed our feelings,” the muscle under Crawford’s palm was already warm, “We can have a constructive conversation.”

Ken stretched and bent his leg at the knee. Crawford watched his body – it was young and strong and beautiful. He ran one finger over Ken’s inner thigh, stroked the thin hair there. Ken shuddered.

“I thought you’d have scars,” Crawford muttered, and his hand went higher up, neglecting Ken’s half-hard cock and touching his stomach. The muscles contracted when Crawford put his hand on Ken’s abs.

“A couple,” Ken answered quietly. “On my back.”

Ken was interested, even though he tried to restrain himself, and this calm, strong feeling was different from the primal urge that had been there before. Now Crawford felt it in his core, and Ken’s desire engulfed him like a cloud. He wanted to give in, but it was Ken who had to decide. Crawford just watched Ken’s fingers twitch slightly and felt his pulse going faster and faster.

The tension between them felt palpable when Ken finally made up his mind. He stroked Crawford’s chest, fingers touching his nipple, and Crawford observed his own reaction with interest – pleasant, not nearly enough.

“You shave?” Ken asked hoarsely, running his fingers from the collarbone to the navel.

“Wax,” Crawford’s own voice sounded lower and deeper to him. "It's a habit from the times at Rosenkreuz. A lot of experiments with electricity, bodily hair just got in the way."

Ken closed his eyes, his eyelashes fluttered. He muttered,

"Yeah. Right," and pressed his lips to Crawford's nipple – carefully, even gingerly. And then looked up.

Crawford looked into the dark blue depth and felt an electric tingling under his skin. A warm, wet tongue licked his nipple, circled it, making him exhale. When the sharp teeth closed right on the nipple, Crawford pressed Ken into the bed.

His own cock was already hard and pushing into Ken's groin. Crawford rubbed himself on Ken, then pushed his knee between Ken's thighs. His embarrassment flushed hot in Crawford’s mind and then melted away, when Ken exhaled and spread his legs.

Ken’s short, thick cock bobbed up and down in tune with his breathing. The head was slick with precum, there was thin hair on Ken’s balls that went further, to his buttocks and between them, and it shouldn’t have been arousing to Crawford, but it was, so much that his pulse sped up insanely and his vision went red.

When Crawford spread his legs and put his knees on either side of Ken’s thighs, Ken reached out to touch his balls. His hand felt rough, unfamiliar.

“Squeeze,” Crawford asked hoarsely. Ken’s fingers caressed him, rolling the balls in his palm, and then slowly squeezed them tighter and tighter.

“They don’t fit,” Ken said, and it made Crawford’s mouth water. And then Ken sat up and caught Crawford’s cock in between his lips. Arousal pierced the small of his back and went straight to his balls, still cradled in Ken’s palm.

Crawford pushed into Ken’s mouth, throwing him on the pillow again. He leaned on his hands and knees, shivering when rough, calloused hands palmed his buttocks. Ken took the cock in his mouth slowly, inch after inch, and just as slowly his hands were spreading Crawford's ass, lightly caressing his hole.

Crawford's cock was engulfed in the hot wetness. Ken croaked something, throwing his head back, and Crawford saw his Adam's apple bobbing. There were firm fingers stroking his hole and a warm mouth he was fucking into, but it was this movement that unraveled him. The second wave of arousal hit him and washed away all thoughts, leaving only the primal desire to become one with Ken, feel him inside, sink into him, take and own him.

Crawford’s wet cock slid between Ken’s buttocks, and Crawford froze, felt sweat beading on his back and arms, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Ken tensed, squeezing Crawford’s cock with his buttocks, wet skin sliding against wet skin, and said hoarsely,

“Crawford, come on.”

Crawford slid down further, pushing against his hole. Ken’s eyes widened, his hands clutched Crawford’s forearms as he slowly started to push inside the maddening, scorching tightness. Crawford couldn’t take his eyes off Ken’s face – his features were contorted with pain, he closed his eyes and bit his lip. When Ken slowly opened his eyes again, his eyelashes were damp and his gaze heavy. The lower lip was swollen from biting, and Crawford gently licked it, tasting blood.

Crawford stopped when Ken moaned in pain, and lifted his legs up to rest on his shoulders.

“Gonna hurt even more,” he promised, sliding in deeper. Looking down, Crawford saw the ring of muscle, taut and red, and thrust all the way, stretching it further. He stopped to catch his breath and pressed closer to Ken, listening to his quiet moans, then rolled his hips.

Good.

So fucking good.

Crawford did it again, and Ken panted, squirming on his cock and biting his own palm. Crawford nuzzled his neck, grazing his teeth over the salty skin, licked his throat and thrust in forcefully, covering Ken’s lips with his own to swallow the sound he made.

Hot muscles squeezed his cock, making Crawford's breath stutter, and he slid out, then thrust in again, and again, and again. He will never have anyone closer than Ken - Crawford held onto his knees, almost bending him in two, fucking him so deep that his balls were rubbing into Ken's perineum. He will never have anyone more important than Ken - Crawford started to rock back and forth, and Ken moved with him. He will never have anyone more important than Ken. Crawford took Ken's cock in his hand - it was hot, rock-hard and completely wet with precum. Crawford stroked him quickly, fucking into his burning hot hole.

His orgasm felt like a flash of blinding light, a mixture of pain, pleasure, and relief. His hand was wet with warm, sticky semen. Ken was trembling, and Crawford carefully lowered his legs. Ken's hole was so wet and slick from the cum that Crawford started to slide out, and he thrust in again, pushing his softening cock into the hotness.

Ken was still shivering. Crawford smirked and fell on top of him. The bed was spinning, the floor and the ceiling trading places. He felt too spent to get up. When a heavy palm settled on his nape, Crawford stopped trying. He was just lying there, listening to a heart beating steadily under his cheek.

"Did you really want a dog when you were little?" Ken asked, his hand stroking Crawford's neck.

"I don't remember," Crawford confessed.

"You absolutely did," Ken said smugly, and a memory wormed its way to his mental vision: a dog's nose, big, cold, and wet against his palm, grey tail wagging. Crawford has to go, but he keeps turning back to watch the dog, because the dog is watching him too, still wagging its tail. Then it runs away.

"Yeah."

There was no lump in his throat, no nostalgia because of the memory, but Crawford still smiled. He turned to his side and felt a dull ache inside. Ken must be having it worse, but Crawford kind of liked the feeling.

"Maybe I should have killed you," Ken contemplated, and Crawford shrugged - happens to everyone.

"That's a good idea, sleep on it," he answered, making Ken chuckle. "But if it turned out this way," Crawford closed his eyes and saw golden light under his eyelids, lulling him into calmness, "let's survive and kick Eszett's ass. For a start."

"By the way," Crawford rose on his elbow and looked at Ken. "When you first woke up, you said you knew my biggest secret."

Ken frowned.

"It isn't about me wanting a dog, is it?"

Ken kept frowning, but after a moment the corners of his mouth went up in a smile.

"Deep down in your heart, you love your team." Even saying it, Ken looked a bit surprised.

Crawford stayed silent for some time.

"I don't. Still, don't tell anyone."

"Your team would..."

"It's not about my team. It's leverage. It's a strategic edge someone could use against us. Don't tell anyone. Please."

"I won't."

Ken turned to him, and their eyes met. A golden net was running through Crawford’s consciousness, and he pulled the covers over them both. Soon, Schuldig would bring the team back, and they’d need a new plan, one that includes Ken, as well as Crawford’s new abilities. Now that he thought of it, they were going to have fun. New lines of possibility, golden and blue, danced in his vision.

The end

 


End file.
